


Cold Light of Day

by kay_emm_gee



Series: Carry You With Me [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Future Fic, Post-2x16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 11:38:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4018327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years, and Clarke comes back. Clarke comes back, and she finds that maybe what she gained in her time away wasn’t worth what she lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Light of Day

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little headcanon that turned into a drabble, because it's not usually Clarke who is pining for Bellamy in fanfic, and I wanted to explore that idea.

It is almost two years before Clarke returns, but somehow, she does come back, and, by some miracle, her adjustment into camp is surprisingly fine. Maybe it is simply because they are all so happy to be together again. Jasper has forgiven her, and Monty is no longer quite as haunted. Harper laughs again, Octavia is pregnant, and Bellamy had found his place as a leader. He is also with someone, which makes Clarke happy because he so deserves that type of peace.

Then.

Then, an odd feeling creeps in when she sees how Bellamy turns to his girl for everything—like how to support O through the pregnancy, to handle delinquent disputes, and to lead (because he’s on the Council now, and has revolutionized the Ark government - he’s Bellamy Blake, what else did you expect?). It used to be her doing that, so it’s weird. Just weird, nothing else. Clarke tries to ignore it, but eventually weird turns into annoying. Especially when she disagrees with a decision of Bellamy’s that his girl happens to support. No one calls him out on anything, except the other council members, and that doesn’t sit well with Clarke. She’s not jealous—she just won’t let him get away with shit like the others.

Raven notices and tells her to back off. They are happy she is back, and that she will always be one of them, but she isn’t their leader anymore. The mechanic says it with pity and understanding, a knowing look in her eyes. Clarke walks away, not wanting to admit quite yet that maybe whatever she gained in her absence—peace, closure, what have you—may not have been worth what she also lost.

Clarke can’t help it though; she’s been a leader, or on her own, for so long that she has stopped giving a damn what other people think. So she challenges Bellamy. Not very often, but on the important things. He just takes it at first, chuckling as he plays it off as old habits from another time. When he realizes it’s not a joke, that she is seriously trying to reassert her control, he loses patience. He snaps at her, is short with her, shuts her down.  _You doesn’t have the right anymore_ , he says.

She knows this, but she continues to go after him. Snapping turns to yelling—they are usually away from camp for this, because they both at least have enough sense to keep it private. He gets so mad, voice tight and jaw clenched, but it isn’t until his eyes go wild that the knot in Clarke’s chest eases, because  _there he is_. That’s her Bellamy, and even if he hates her for it, she can’t help but push his buttons, because she misses him, the uncontrollable force of the boy she used to know.

Finally Octavia has had enough, confronting Clarke very late one night with a furious, confused glare.  _You could have had him, you know_ , she whispers coldly.  _You’re the one that walked away_. Clarke is astounded because  _it isn’t like that_. She splutters, trying to explain, and Octavia looks at her suspiciously, not knowing whether to believe her.  _Maybe it wasn’t like that for you, but it was for him,_ she says with hard eyes that have just a glimmer of pity in them.  _He loved you for a long time after you left, but you never came back, and now he_ _doesn’t need you anymore._

Pain cuts through Clarke’s chest at those last words, and she scowls at Octavia, hoping her furrowed brow and the dark shadows will conceal the ache rising up in her. Octavia closes her eyes briefly, muttering what sounds like an apology before lurching up, hand fluttering gently over her large belly, and stalking off into the night. Feeling a mix of longing and anger bubbling up inside her, Clarke reaches for the blade at her side. As her eyes grow hot and begin to sting, she hacks at the log she is sitting on, each stab in time with the words running through her head:

_He doesn’t need me._

_He doesn’t need me._

_He doesn’t need me._

Finally, when her knife goes so deep into the wood that she can’t pry it out, Clarke heaves in a ragged breath. She swipes at her eyes, not even having realized she has been crying. Looking around, she notices the camp yard is empty, except for the dying glow of cooling fires. No one had come after her to get her inside; no one was worried about where she was. They didn’t have to be, because she had been back for months, and could take care of herself, and besides, she had promised she wasn’t going to leave again.

Clarke had promised, but the ache of Octavia’s admission claws at her insides, needling her mind with truths she doesn’t want to admit. The urge to run overtakes her, a suffocating need to be in open spaces not surrounded by metal and loud voices and thoughts of could-have-beens. So, before she knows what she is doing, she has slipped into her room, gathered her very few belongings into a patched-together sack, stolen some provisions from the mess hall, and headed towards the gate.

She doesn’t look back at the camp until she is at the tree line. It looms large against the starry night sky, a deformed mountain of metal surrounded by the lowly humming silver fence. With great care, Clarke memorizes the outline, closing her eyes to make sure she had it firmly in her mind, because it is unlikely she will come back.

 _May we meet again,_ she whispers.

This time, though, there is no one to make her the promise in return, because  _he doesn’t need her anymore_. 

The only answering sound is that of the wind whistling through the trees, carrying her words away into the night. She follows suit, disappearing in the darkness, just another shadow running from the light of day.  

**Author's Note:**

> There will probably be a part 2 sometime in the (very) distant future from Bellamy's POV.


End file.
